Wit Is The Fruitful Womb Where Thoughts

Nature Has Left This Tincture In The Blood, That All Men Would Be Tyrants If They Could.

Never, Ladies, Marry A Fool. Any Husband Rather Than A Fool. With Some Other Husband You May Be Unhappy, But With A Fool You Will Be Miserable.

I Have Often Thought Of It As One Of The Most Barbarous Customs In The World, Considering Us As A Civilized And A Christian Country, That We Deny The Advantages Of Learning To Women.

I Smil'd To My Self At The Sight Of This Money, O Drug! Said I Aloud, What Art Thou Good For? Thou Art Not Worth To Me, No Not The Taking Off Of The Ground, One Of Those Knives Is Worth All This Heap, I Have No Manner Of Use For Thee, E'en Remain Where Thou Art, And Go To The Bottom As A Creature Whose Life Is Not Worth Saving. However, Upon Second Thoughts, I Took It Away.

I Was Born In The Year 1632, In The City Of York, Of A Good Family, Tho' Not Of That Country, My Father Being A Foreigner Of Bremen, Who Settled First At Hull; He Got A Good Estate By Merchandise, And Leaving Off His Trade, Lived Afterward At York, From Whence He Had Married My Mother, Whose Relations Were Named Robinson, A Very Good Family In That Country, And From Whom I Was Called Robinson Kreutznaer; But By The Usual Corruption Of Words In England, We Are Now Called, Nay We Call Ourselves, And Write Our Name Crusoe, And So My Companions Always Call'd Me.